The Octogenarian Menace

There’s an unpublicized danger lurking in our society, and something needs to be done about it before more innocent people suffer.

I’m not talking about sorority hazing, but rather a problem more widespread and worrisome; a problem that grows larger with each passing year.

I’m talking, of course, about octogenarian drivers.

Our population is quickly aging. According to the most recent census, by the year 2010 there will be two billion American drivers over the age of eighty.

Okay, I’m exaggerating slightly, but I do so in order to make the following point: We need to keep an eye on our rearview mirrors.

Only yesterday, I was running late for an appointment when I found myself stuck behind a slow-moving senior in a late model Buick Century.

How do I know the driver was an octogenarian? Because he drove the entire way with his right turn signal blinking.

That and the fact he maintained a steady 35 mph in a 50 mph zone.

With heavy traffic the opposite direction, moving around this wrinkled demon on the two-lane road was simply out of the question. Instead, I passed the time by counting backwards from one million. Slowly, and in Spanish.

But it’s not just the speed at which they drive their Lincoln Towncars and Chrysler Newports that makes them dangerous. You see, octogenarians no longer fear the Grim Reaper. Heck, the afterlife is probably a first-rate retirement home in their eyes.

As evidence, I recall a ride I took in a small commuter plan some years ago. The twenty-four-seater was scheduled to take me between the Florida cities of Jacksonville and Gainesville, then continue on to the senior Mecca of Tampa.

When I boarded the plane, every seat but mine was filled by someone’s grandparent, a graying man or woman smelling strangely of peppermint.

Cool, I thought, no crying babies on this flight.

Then we took off in the middle of a thunderstorm, and a short while later the plane took a direct hit from a bolt of lightening.


Suddenly, we began to descend at an alarming rate, and I was convinced this was to be my final flight.

Looking around the violently shaking plane, however, I saw nothing but smiling, happy faces. I think one was even whistling.

After the pilot managed to pull us out of the nosedive and we landed safely at our destination, I swear I heard one of the AARP members say, “Now I’m gonna have to pay that damn doctor’s bill.”

Proving that octogenarians are simply unfazed by the so-called “bitter end.”

That’s why, when driving, they make turns without first checking to see if traffic has cleared. Apparently, they’ve earned the right to take your lane whenever the mood strikes them, so you better just yield.

I suppose it also explains why they never even glance in their rearview mirrors when backing up. If a mailbox goes down, then it must have had it coming.

And it explains why you never see anyone under the age of fifty riding shotgun with an octogenarian driver. They’re always in the backseat, and often times they’re wearing some type of helmet.

So, when an octogenarian offers you a ride, take my advice and respectfully decline. Especially, if you catch him whistling a happy tune.

Copyright 2003 Marc L. Prey
All rights reserved.